


falling like ashes to the ground

by brandflakeeee



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, and banter, and everything else because lbr, i don't know why i like the idea of this pairing but i do, it will probably be a lot of sexual tension, so here have a fic, these two are utter idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandflakeeee/pseuds/brandflakeeee
Summary: The Master kidnaps the Doctor. Adventure ensues. Everything goes to hell. It's old hat, really.





	falling like ashes to the ground

Being plunged into icy water was not on the ‘list of favorite ways to wake up’, written by the Doctor.

Nevertheless, she jerked, startled by the sudden sensation, gasping when the frigid chill hit her skin. She hadn’t been shoved into the sea, rather it had been dumped on her unceremoniously without so much as a warning. The chill seeped into bones immediately, dragging her from a murky abyss that had started some hours before. There was a dull ache at the back of her skull and a pounding at the front, couple the pains with the sudden wakeup call and the Doctor was overwhelmed, caught off guard by a pair of hands hauling her to her feet.

Stumbling, she flicked her head up to toss hair from her eyes, taking in her surroundings. Dim, unfortunately so. An empty room, metal, and somewhere beneath her feet the hum of an engine. Space, then. On a ship. Human made, judging from the size and the rather human-looking man who was lashing her hands in front of her with a harsh bit of rope.

“You know, this body’s still a bit new. If you could take it a bit easier, I’d like to earn my scars, not gain them from some careless nutter who thinks it’s polite to drag people about.”

Her response was a barely contained snarl and a sharp glare.

“Not friendly, then.”

Of course not. They never were.

Despite her now frigid state and aching body, the Doctor kept herself upright as she was marched out of the room and into a similar looking hallway. Warehouse, she would’ve guessed. Cargo hold, if she was on a ship as she’d suspected. It looked very sterile, but older, not anything new or large. The hall was just as empty as the small cell-like room, except for the faint smell of rust and the louder hum from the ship engines. Trying to take in as much as possible, the Doctor kept her steps small and unassuming as the human-looking man – in her head, she dubbed him Tall – kept her on a straight path to the end of the hallway.

Tall led (rather, forced) her into a lift, the both of them practically on top of each other to wedge in properly. It groaned, but she felt it shift around them, taking them up and up until it screeched to a halt. The Doctor winced; it was not an ideal situation to begin with, but she only wished she could remember how in the seven hells she’d arrived in her current predicament. Memories didn’t just _go missing_ without reason, without _help_.

The lift doors opened into a larger hallway that Tall led her down, and into another room. This one was far nicer, larger, and wasn’t entirely devoid of life. In fact, it was rather nicely furnished – a bed shoved against the wall, a bookshelf, a small table with a chair, and a pair of armchairs facing a coffee table that was filled with a variety of fruits that she vaguely recognized as clashing terribly in culture and purpose; they were from complete opposite ends of galaxies, which meant that her lovely captors obviously got around quite well.

“Sit.” Tall demanded, his voice deep and likely to anyone else, threatening. The Doctor arched a brow.

“I’d rather stand, actually.”

Tall grabbed her shoulder, and shoved her roughly into the armchair without a second thought. The Doctor winced as he pulled a switchblade from his breast pocket and flipped it open. She drew away the minute he started toward her, but he snatched a hold of the rope at her wrists before she could get far.

“Listen, if you intend to kill me let me make myself perfectly clear that I ----“ Her words, however sharp, died on her tongue as he sawed the rope free from her wrists. It fell away, revealing skin rubbed raw by the coarse texture.

“Eat.” Tall grumbled, and when one of her stomachs let out a rather loud rumble, the Doctor couldn’t refuse. Especially not while she was still trying to sort out the situation, and figure a way out and back to the TARDIS.

Looking down at the array of food, she vaguely wondered if it was poisoned. Glancing at Tall for confirmation, she found he had already gone to stand near the door. Still watching her, of course, his arms folded across his chest and a look that dared her to try anything. Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, she reached out for a standard looking bundle of grapes and plucked one from the vine. Smelling it didn’t set her on alert, and neither did a test-lick, so she popped it in her mouth and chewed.

Not immediately dying, the Doctor ate a few more, and then reached for a carambola apple from the Andromeda galaxy that had been sliced into neat little wedges.

“It’s weird you left me to rot downstairs, and then all of a sudden I’m getting star treatment? Not that I’m complaining, but it’s still a bit strange. Care to elaborate?”

Another look at Tall, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Not even a glare. Charming.

“All right, how about a cup of tea?”

Nothing.

“You’re really bring a grump, you know. Usually people like to chit chat over lunch, at least I’m told. I’m still learning out a few new social things from friends and studying. Do you have friends? Of course you do, I’m sure they’re somewhere on this ship too. Yes, yes, I know it’s a ship – but where? Where are we? And who are you working for that you’ve been paid to stand there by that door and listen to my prattling on?”

A lip twitch, and the Doctor gave a lopsided grin.

“I’ll shut up for tea.”

To her minor surprise and somewhat delight, he tapped his ear (an earpiece, she noted, to keep in contact) and murmured something she couldn’t make out, only the low timbre of his voice. A few minutes later as she continued to devour her little feast, there was a knock at the door. She couldn’t see who it was on the other side as Tall took a tray from them, and shoved several plates aside on the coffee table without a care. The Doctor caught one just at the edge of tipping as he returned to his position by the door.

Tea. Perfect.

It’s blend, however, gave away no secrets a she would’ve liked. A galactic standard black tea, no hints of other additives that might have predicted a region or quadrant of their current location. Still, she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and prepared herself a cuppa and began to mull over more in her mind.

The last thing she could actively recall was responding to a distress signal of a ship nearing a supernova; it had been pulled too far in by the gravity and would have been toast, had the Doctor not intervened. She remembered leaving the TARDIS, stepping onto the doomed ship to look for passengers after lifesign scans had indicated such, before everything turned into a distant and hazy blur in her mind. Trying to focus in on it only gave her more of a headache, and she pressed a hand to her temple to try and quell the throbbing.

All right, no immediate answers, then. No hurt in playing the long game. Besides, they wanted something with her. Otherwise she’d be dead, which would’ve really been a great disservice to quite a many people. No, they wanted her alive and well, judging by the food, and being lorded over by Tall only confirmed more of that particular theory.

She shivered, realizing she was still wet from Tall’s rather nasty wake-up call. Despite the room being quite warm, her soaked clothes were doing nothing to help her. Perhaps asking for new ones would be out of line, but before she could open her mouth, Tall pointed a stubby finger toward a trunk at the end of the bed. Lifting from the armchair, the Doctor opened the trunk to find it almost completely sparse, save for a few items of clothing that were nearly indistinguishable from one another. Mostly black, with few bits of colour here or there.

“Not going to be walking any runways in these.” She murmured, settling on trousers and a hoodie. Tall turned his back while she changed, hanging her wet clothes over the end of the bed posts to dry. Padding barefoot back across the room, she brought her tea back to her lips and perched on the edge of the armchair.

There was nothing else telling about the room, or who might inhabit it. They’d been very careful, whoever they were, not to leave anything for her to go on as a clue. Curious, indeed.

Another knock, this one sharper, more precise, and Tall stepped aside to let it open completely. The Doctor’s gaze snapped up, and she felt the fruit-bile rise in the back of her throat.

“Doctor.” The man practically cooed, and her shiver returned. He looked ever much the same, save for the greying of his dirty blonde hair about his temples. Dressed sharply compared to Tall, the Doctor lowered her teacup slowly and took in the sight before her.

“Master.”

The Master smiled only serenely, dismissing Tall with a wave and shutting the door soundly behind him. She didn’t miss the fact that he locked it as well, caging himself in the room with her. The Doctor regarded him carefully as he strutted to the other arm chair and draped himself in it as a king would upon a throne. She fought the simmering urge to throw her tea at him, or flip the table of fruit directly on that stupidly tailored suit, just to see his eye twitch.

“Any particular reason we’re playing hostages?” She broke the silence first, and out of spite had not lifted another finger to the tea or fruit buffet before her. He chuckled.

“Because _someone_ wouldn’t answer her phone.”

“Don’t patronize me.” She spoke evenly, frowning. The Master seemed even more delighted at himself.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. Believe it or not, _I_ need _your_ help.”

The Doctor snorted, loudly, and fell back against the cushions of the armchair. Utterly trivial it was, that he needed her help. Though she was surprised he was even daring to ask, which lent credibility that he was lying. When wasn’t he, in truth? He’d never directly asked for her assistance before and even now she wants to deny him.

Then she remembers Missy, and the world stutters for a moment.

“Why?” She isn’t aware she’d said it aloud until he leaned forward to address her, elbows on his knees and fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“I’d say it’s for personal reasons, but you’d be more inclined to deny me; so let’s go with it’s for the better of the universe that you help me in removing a nasty little stain called ‘Invictus’.” He replies, suddenly serious, and the Doctor’s brows knit together. She wants to know if she should know that name, it doesn’t ring a bell – but it does bring another pain to her temple and she flinches. The Master watches all of this with darkened eyes.

“You should be thanking me. They would’ve killed you on that stupid ship you went barging in on.”

“So it’s a group?” The Doctor ventures, and her confusion deepened. “The ship. The distress signal. You must’ve drugged me, because I don’t remember anything.”

“It wasn’t me, I’m not dull enough for it. I’d drag you kicking and screaming, my dear.” His grin is fleeting, as if his hearts aren’t entirely into it. He continues. “They did. A few of them, at least. I’m sure you’d be halfway across the universe by now and that lovely ship of yours cannibalized for parts if I hadn’t had my men step in to stop them and rescue you.”

“So you think because you saved me I owe it to you to help you get rid of a bunch of hooligans who think themselves a crime gang?”

“No, because I have your ship and you aren’t going anywhere with it until I tell you where it is.”

“Oh, we’re bribing now? Aren’t you a little above that?”

“Only by a little. I’m asking you as a friend, Thete.” There’s a sudden vulnerability she can see and it strikes her in just the right way. She has dreams, sometimes, where they’re back on Gallifrey as children. He wears the same looks in her dreams as he does now, albeit on a slightly different face. It’s always been difficult to trust him, and while the Doctor doesn’t trust him as far as she could throw him, there’s still something there she can’t ignore. Can’t and won’t. Her own sliver of hope that they might be on the same side for once won’t let her. It far outweighs her own pride.

She’s quiet for a moment, staring at him. He returns her gaze and they sit staring at one another for several more minutes. He fidgets. She frowns.

“What’s this group done, that has you so upset?” She asked as she watched the tension in his shoulders increase.

“They’ve been working in black market dealings that are interfering with my own interests. Interests I won’t indulge because you’ll only get noble on me and that’s not what we’re here for. They’ve started to get in over their heads, though. Digging into things that should not be dug into. Killing ---“

“Are you sure it isn’t some sort of cult to worship you?” She interrupted, and he scowled.

“Shut up and listen, you big idiot.” He snapped. “They’re killing _children_.”

She leaned forward in her seat, silently waiting for him to continue.

“They’ve started a hostile takeover on some planets I’ve been doing recon for my, ah, own interests and they’re forcing whole colonies into submission by killing their children, forcing them into slavery, the whole nine yards.”

“Sounds like Rassilon.”

The way his face darkens told her he had already been on a similar path of assumption.

“Now they’re claiming they’ve a new weapon to completely level civilizations and smaller planets in their efforts to gain control of everything. Everyone. They’re in my way, there’s doing what you hate the most, and we both know we’re clever together so I’m willing to truce long enough to wipe these idiots out. Agree to help me, and when we’re through we can both be on our merry ways, never to see each other again for another two thousand years or so.” He leaned back again, after grabbing a handful of lumoar fox fruits for himself.

The Doctor remained quiet, watching him toss the small seed-like fruits into the air and catch them in his mouth. She felt at war with herself, and while she couldn’t condone this Invictus group for their actions, her worry lay with the Master instead. With good reason, given the history of both of them single and together. How terrible it had always ended up.

But the sheer _hope_ of ending up on the same side was far too tempting. Not to mention if it was stopping half the universe from getting whipped out by power-hungry, genocidal maniacs.

Present company excluded, of course.

“All right. I’ll help you. But don’t make me regret it, Koschei, or I swear by every deity in this forsaken universe, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

“Ooh, don’t make threats you can’t keep, dear. It might give one the wrong idea.” His crooked, flirtatious grin made her only scowl further. He laughed – and so did she, when the grape she threw bounced neatly off his forehead into the floor.

"You've gotten better with age, Doctor." He cooed, popping another lumoar in his mouth. "Like a fine wine."

"And you," she replied over the rim of her tea cup. "I'd love you insult you, but I simply can't do better than fate already did with that stupid round face."

"Oi!"


End file.
